


i'm setting you free

by songfic_suites



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Scandal AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songfic_suites/pseuds/songfic_suites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Fitz shocked the world, Olivia watches the replay in a bar in New York only for Fitz to shock her again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm setting you free

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing in relation to the Scandal series, it's characters, or its storylines.
> 
> For Grace
> 
> Happy New Year!

 

 

“I’m setting you free,” Fitz had said. On national television too. Granted, it wasn’t planned but one lucky reporter and cameraman happened to be backstage before a campaign speech and caught the President of the United States breaking up with the First Lady. It had been playing on every major network for a solid two weeks straight and even in a Manhattan bar, Olivia sat with her wine and watched the scene play out again.

_I can’t pretend for the American people anymore, Mellie._

_What is so hard to understand about re-elections? A divorced candidate does not get back into the White House._

_Then I will fail as myself…and not some well-spoken show pony._

_Fitz, the American people will **never** accept you. Cyrus will not **let** you— _

_It’s time, Mellie. Time to stop pretending. Stop acting like you want to be a cheerleader when we both know you are a quarterback. It’s time this was over. I’m setting you free._

And Olivia watched Fitz take off his wedding and hand it to Mellie while the entire globe exploded.

Could a president divorce?

Should he have a personal life?

Was he the most progressive or the most hedonistic president the country had ever known?

And despite the fact that Olivia Pope & Associates had their hands full after their move to New York, Olivia waited for her phone to ring. She’d ditched the Fitz phone ages ago but she knew if anyone wanted to, she wasn’t that hard to get ahold of. Yet the phone never rang. Not even Cyrus called to have her talk some sense into Fitz or to salvage the situation. Fitz was done and he wasn’t changing his mind. Olivia smiled as the news flashed Fitz’s picture and raised her glass to toast the screen.

“You like the president?” the bartender asked. Handsome, young, and wearing thick-rimmed dark glasses. Must be a law student, the med students were fond of contacts. This was place was a favorite in New York circles for the political elite that frequented the place and the up-and-coming hoping for contacts. Olivia just liked the dark wood décor and the low lighting, a contrast from all the pristine white in Washington.

She nodded slowly at the bartender, looking back up at the screen and tuning out the noise in the rest of the bar.

“Me too,” the bartender said, turning towards the screen. “I thought he was a dick before, but that took balls to say that to a woman and not take it back.”

“Presidential balls.”

Olivia turned and Fitz was standing behind her smiling. She turned fully and every table and booth stood empty.

“Eh, Mark,” someone waved from an employee’s entrance at the far end of the bar. Mark left, turning back to gape at Fitz. As the door closed, Fitz stepped closer, leaning on the bar.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

Olivia scanned him quickly and realized very little about him had changed except his face. He was thinner than when she saw him last.

“People are going to see you,” she said.

“I know.”

“The rumors will start again.”

“I know,” he said, taking in her shorter hair, her red silk shirt, her gray pants. “No white?” he asked.

She smiled and pointed to the white burberry coat draped across the chair next to her.

Fitz went behind on the bar, coming around the opposite end, and began making himself a drink. Olivia noticed the bagginess of his clothes as he moved.

“How are Gerry and Karen?” she asked.

“Better than I expected,” Fitz replied. “Apparently Karen had been expecting this for some time, just figured it would happen after my second term. Gerry is taking it a little hard though.”

Fitz set out two glass and dropped mint leaves in the bottom of each. After finding the wooden muddler, he began crushing the leaves in the bottom of each glass.

“He’s not speaking to me,” Fitz said.

“He will. In time.”

Fitz nodded and began measuring what looked like rum and lime juice into a metal shaker.

“And Cyrus?” Olivia asked.

“Surprisingly resigned.” Fitz poured some more things she couldn’t see and rattled the mix together. “His own divorce hit him harder than any of us thought,” he said, pouring the mixture evenly between the glasses. He looked up as he slid a glass in front of Olivia. “You should call him, Liv.”

“I know,” she grabbed a glass and sniffed. A mojito but something was different. There was a hint of spice at the edges.

“It’s not wine, I know, but whiskey and wine don’t seem to be happy drinks for you and me,” Fitz said.

“So this is a happy drink?”

“First drink I ever learned how to make,” he said smiling. He came back around the bar and sank into the seat next to her. “I didn’t start out slamming whiskey, you know.”

Olivia took a sip of her drink, surprised at the minty sweetness and the spiciness at the back of her throat. “So you came all this way to make me a drink?” she asked. He laughed and shook his head but Olivia couldn’t ignore the questions burning in my mind. “Why are you really here, Fitz? Where’s your media people, where’s your damage control?”

“I fired them.”

Fitz rested his forearms on the bar and Olivia noticed his wrists looked a little knobby peeking out from his shirt cuffs.

“I’m not coming back,” she said.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Then why are you here?”

Fitz sighed.

“Are you sick?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, “I just – I just wanted to see you and have a drink.” He smiled sadly and reached out, setting his palm on the bar in front of her. “I wanted to see how you were.”

Olivia covered is hand with hers. “You could’ve just called,” she said, laughing slightly.

“No more calls,” he threaded their fingers together. “No more pretending I don’t want to see you when I do.”

_I can’t pretend for the American people anymore, Mellie._

“What happened Fitz?” she asked.

“Do you like your drink?” he pulled his hand away.

Olivia nodded. “Yeah.” She took a big gulp and hissed after she swallowed. Fitz watched and set the drink away from her when she was done.

“I’ve been thinking hard,” he sipped, “about a lot of things.”

Olivia waited.

“Not us,” he said. “You’re still the only thing I’m clear about.”

She sighed. They’d had this argument only once before. It was over the phone after she had moved to New York and he found out about it on the news. He had told her it was possible and that he’d found a way for them but she didn’t believe him. They had not spoken since.

“You can’t make me the new First Lady. It’s political suicide,” Olivia said.

“Divorce is political suicide. Now I’m just in a freefall.”

Olivia reached forward for the drink but Fitz put a hand over it. “How are you?” he asked.

“Good.” She reached for the glass again.

“How are you really?”

Olivia leaned back, crossing her arms. “New York has been good to me. Good for me.”

“I’m glad,” he took his hand off of the drink. “Your father?”

“Adjusting still. Working at the MET actually curating. It’s weird listening to him talk about art,” she said.

“I can’t picture it.”

“Neither can I.”

They both laughed.

“Sir?”

A secret service agent leaned out from the employee’s door at the far end of the bar.

“How much time we got, Scott?” Fitz asked.

“Ten minutes until the press arrive.”

“Give me five and I’ll be ready.” Fitz downed the rest of his drink.

“No Tom?” Olivia asked.

“Scott’s Tom’s pick. He’s a good man. You’d like him.”

Olivia sipped, a third of the drink rolled around her glass. “You have to go.”

He nodded and stood, shrugging on his jacket. Turning on her stool, Olivia couldn’t help pulling him towards her and fixing his shirt and tie. He stood quietly, watching her face.

“One minute?” he asked.

She looked away but nodded.

Fitz stepped closer, parting her knees with his hand and Olivia leaned into his chest, her hands under his jacket. She felt his ribs under her palms while he pulled her closer, hugging her shoulders. Her eyes burned, his heartbeat thumping under her ear. This was not the last minute they would have but she no longer knew when the next one would be. Fitz was changing before her eyes and the country’s and who knew who he would be at the end of it. He pressed a kiss into her hair, then forehead, lingering as long as possible.

She was the first to pull away.

“Call me?” he asked. “You’re still on the list.”

She nodded and he moved toward the employee’s door. “Have you sold the house in Vermont?” she asked.

He stopped and turned, shaking his head.

“Good... Don’t.” she said.

He smiled wide and waved, disappearing through the door as other people began to flood back in. The original bartender did not come back, instead a girl was sent out with similar thick-rimmed glasses. Another law student. She asked Olivia about a refill but Olivia waved her away, holding the drink he made her and sipping slowly.

She had made a new life for herself in New York these past few months. She’d watched his campaign from afar but compared to Washington, New York was a much smaller pond with deeper pockets and less risk of being kidnapped. She liked her B613-free existence.

Shaking her head, she finished her drink and gathered her things, double-checking her purse when she heard Fitz’s name. On the screen his picture flashed again reminding New York the president would be arriving in a day to give a campaign speech but Olivia kept staring at his face. His visit wasn't discovered, but why mentioned the press?

Not your problem, she mentally chanted to herself, shrugging on her coat and stepping out into the frigid air. Yet when she stood on the sidewalk and closed her eyes, and if she tuned out the sound of the cars, the wind felt the same. She thought of Vermont on the walk, avoiding contact with the people she passed. On the outside she was firmly in New York but in her mind she was still inside the walls of that house. Her house.


End file.
